Fiddle Camp!

Pick Apples With Us!

So Apple Cidering is coming up early this year. I blame it on the rain followed by intense heat. I need to collect as many wild apples as possible from the local forests and trails here on the mountain. I'll be asking neighbors for permission for their drops and wild forage as well. But I had an idea. If anyone out there is horse friendly and in good shape, do you want to come for a potluck/apple picking day with the horeses? I can lead Merlin and his cart and pack saddles with Jasper and with their help we can carry out three times as many apples as we could with backpacks or sacks. It would be a fun couple hours of work followed by a shared meal on the farm. This isn't a workshop, or an Indie Day, it's just a community project and while the bulk go to the cidering coffer I see no reason why you couldn't go home with a basket or two for your own home use as sauce or pie fodder. It would be the afternoon of September 14th! If you are interested let me know.

Joel on The Next Generation of Farmers

ATTENTION FIDDLE CAMPERS

It looks like chance of rain (thunderstorms) all this weekend. Not a downpour but we could get caught in the rain from time to time. Please bring rain gear and I suggest only camping here Saturday if you have a solid three-season high quality tent with stakes. There are all sorts of local lodging options if you click here. Remember this is an outdoor event, not indoors (we will not all fit indoors!) but if it turns really bad weather wise I'll see if we can head over to a friends barn to stay dry! But I don't think it'll come to that, I just want everyone prepared who is camping on site!

Words & Wool is Back This December!

Come to Cold Antler Farm this winter for a special workshop called Words & Wool. It is a knitter's circle and writing workshop dedicated to the small homestead or farmer's blog and the marketing and promotion of it. Come learn straight from the shepherd's mouth how I built, promoted, and expanded my blog. Ask me questions about publishing and writing professionally, learn how to sell or pitch ads and giveaways, how to deal with trolls and critics, and keeping yourself inspired to write. If you like, bring a sample of writing to talk about and share with the group for a healthy and kind critique. Tell your story with eager ears listening....At the very least get some ideas for your personal, non commercial blog for your friends and family. It's a day dedicated to expanding your own brand and business, and getting the word out about your own website as another, vibrant, source of income for your farm and family.

And as for the wool? Bring a knitting project! If you are coming along to listen and talk, you might as well have something to work on near the woodstove. Other knitters will be on hand to help, give advice, share patterns and teach you the basics if you are new to the craft. Expect a comfortable day, indoors mostly, here at the farm. The class starts at 10AM and goes till 4PM, and if you want to stay after the class for a private party of creamy potato soup and bread fresh from the Bun Baker wood stove you are welcome to it!

Email me if you are interested, cost will be $100.00 for the whole day, and include a farm tour. Please pack a lunch for a midday knitting break. CAF Season Pass members just let me know if you want to come along!

Words & Wool
Jackson, NY
December 7th, 2013

Fall's Trotting Closer

So the fair is over and Autumn is on his way. It's still in the eighties around here, and that's warm, but it is a totally different kind of heat compared to June or July. It's almost September, which even the most skeptical of us have to admit is fall's first breath, and it shows. In June eighty degrees is an angry heat. It's intense. But yesterday after a trail ride with Merlin, even though I was driping sweat and in full sun, it felt a little careworn, that sun. I did drive down the the river to jump in afterward and cool off, but the water was *just* cold enough to be a harbinger of what's ahead and as I sat in a cool pool along the riverbank, reading a book, a yellow leaf floated right onto my thigh. I picked it up and inspected it like a message, which indeed it was. Fall is on the way.

The farm is getting ready at her own pace for winter. I have wood to chop and stack, hay to order, and snow tires to purchase but there's still a few months left before the last gasp of the Days of Grace and I feel like I'm in honest shape for it. I have sheep for sale and such to reduce the herd size and hay needs. I recently got paid a small installment of a book advance and was able to use all of it it to catch up on the mortgage and that allowed a sigh of relief I just can't emphasize enough. Things are tight, but on the mend. That is good news for certain.

Fiddle Camp is Saturday and I have two days to prepare for it! Folks are coming from Canada, the Midwest, and all over the northeast. I have sixteen fiddles in my dining room to tune up! Tomorrow is all about those fiddle, mowing the lawn, and getting the farm ready for company. I'm excited to get people started with their first fiddle, as that is always a hoot. To see somone show up with no idea how to even hold the thing, to open that case for the first time in solid awe of the beast, and then by Sunday afternoon be performing a song and dedicated to practice. Fiddle Camp is a grand event and will probably start to happen here every Labor Day weekend (or close to it) as long as folks are interested. A smaller version will happen this March, so if you are interested in that and learning with a border collie in your lap by the woodstove - email me to reserve a spot!

Starter Flock for Sale!

If you are interested in getting into sheep I am looking to reduce my herd before winter. I can offer you a great starter flock of some young sheep - 2 ewes, a ram, and a wether. The males are Monday and Knoxville (both Scottish Blackface) and get along great - the ram is a litle guy, just over a year and the friendliest of the bunch! Knox is 3. The two ewes are Cotswold ewes, two or three years old. They are a hardy bunch. The entire group is for sale for $450.

Please Subscribe To Cold Antler Farm!

Dear readers, friends, and neighbors! A few folks have come to me asking about this option on the blog and I think it is a great idea. Instead of asking for reader donations, I am offering a reoccurring subscription to people who want to compensate me for writing the blog. This is not mandatory of course, but it sure is appreciated. Supporting a word farm like this one does take a village, but the produce is free!

It works like this. You sign up for a specific monthly amount (several options) which is automatically sent to me from their Paypal account on a certain date. It may not seem like much but if ten people are welling to pay ten bucks a month for thirty days of writing, video, and stories you can see how that adds up. Right now the blog only makes money through ads, and that is unreliable at best. This way I can depend on a regular payment for the time I spent here, even if it is a modest one. Mostly, it is a way to keep the place going. I hope you will consider supporting the blog this way. It is truly appreciated and lets me know the interest level and value of the work, very important things for a writer.

Seed : $5.00 USD - monthly Lamb : $10.00 USD - monthly Ram : $15.00 USD - monthly Flocker! : $25.00 USD - monthly

Don't Be Herded

You can be whoever you want to be. You can love whatever you want to love. The biggest thing I see holding people back from their dreams and passions is the negative opinions and influences of others. Let me tell you something, friend. Opinions are a fiat currency. They are only worth what you agree to accept. So stop living your life based on other people's Monopoly Money. It isn't real.

Learn Mountain Music At The Farm This October!

If you don't know who this woman pictured is, let me introduce to you the finest Old Time Banjo Frailer in the county! Julie Duggan is a Cambridge art teacher and banjo player, having taught people in camps and clinics all over the US for the past 25 years. She is the woman to get that banjo itch you have scratched. She agreed to come the Saturday before Halloween to the farm for an all day introduction to the 5-string openback banjo. This is old time, frailing, or knockdown style. It's the kind of banjo playing that came out of the Appalachians before bluegrass music came about. It's rhythmic, powerful, and above all fun! You'll need a banjo for the course (none are provided) but you don't need to invest thousands to learn the basics. Email me if you want some recommendations but what matters at this workshop is your enthusiasm! Don't worry if you aren't musical. What Julie needs is people excited to learn.

Here you can see her playing at a mountain music workshop I did a few seasons back. Julie and I talked about what would happen during the day workshop and she will teach us the basics, but also tell a bit of her story about her experience with this instrument that because such a big part of her life. She not only teaches and performs with her banjos but collects them as well.

What I really love about these two workshops are they happens during the heart of Cold Antler Farm's year, Fall. The farm will be ready for winter and there will most likely be a red tail hawk for you to meet as well. It's a happy, special, and beautiful time here in Washington County and I think these workshops will fill up quick! So email me if you want to sign up for this, or the wool workshop, or BOTH!

Open Backs and Hallowed Hearts!
Saturday, Holy October 26th 2013
10AM-4PM
15 Spots Left
Price: $125

Me

photo by Tara Alan of goingslowly.com

Prop Blur

Attempting to fix my GoPro HERO 2 prop blur issue with a $7 fix versus a $77 fix!

I've ordered a .6ND, 20x24 2 Stop Neutral Density Lighting Filter which according to the internet will fix all my issues. Hope it arrives before my next flight.

Here is a sample video from YouTube courtesy of @climiek. Okay, it's not perfect, but definitely better than what I have now.

I'm There

I had a very romantic evening planned. I knew most of the day would be the usual grind but these days of Indian Summer were a thunderstorm in time. I needed to savor them while I could. I had decided that tonight Merlin would take me out to dinner. I had a very all the gear I needed to turn it into a picnic already set aside for a dusk ride up the mountain. I had not ridden Merlin in days and it was wearing me down. Riding isan addiction that has grabbed hold hard. I could have a horrible day and something like a shot of whiskey or a dinner out with friends may take my mind off it, nothing cleans the slate for me like the zen trance of being on a horse at a full-out run. I now crave that sensation, sitting into a canter, like a junky craves her next hit. I share this without apology.

The day ahead was mundane, but only until noon. After a morning of laundry, house work, farm chores and email tag I was destined for the archery field. Because of my part time job and the deadline for the mews I had missed weeks of team practice. I was really looking forward to it. Spending an afternoon around people I have known for years, under a warm sun, and doing the sport we all love - is a feeling few people get to experience these days. Today was not only a team practice for my SCA group, but my highest score of all time during Royal Rounds! What the heck is a Royal Round? Well, thanks for asking! A Royal Round is a measure of skill - a series of points based on four targets. The archer gets six arrows and shoots all of them at a 20 yard target, a 30 yard target, and a 40 yard target. When that's done you get a thirty second timed round at twenty yards. I am proud to say that a year into my training I hit 4 out of 6 arrows at 40 yards and can shoot five arrows well in under thirty seconds. I am well on my way to the marksman level of shooting.The marksman level is a score of 40 points on three royal rounds in a twelve-month period. Today I score 35 points, including several bulls eyes. I started with scores around 11 or 12. I think I was glowing out there on the line.

When our team practice was over I was asked to stay afterwards by our Marshal, T'mas. T'mas runs our team and just spent two weeks at the epic Pennsic War (the largest tent city in America, google it) and he wanted to test me for a leadership position as a fellow field Marshal. For an hour he grilled me on rules of safety, equipment inspection, field set up, running a practice, and Society particulars. When we were done he told me he would be contacting his Field Lieutenant to let me know I was a proper recommendation for Marshal. This all sounds very militaryesque because the SCA is not a democracy, it is based on the war practices of the middle ages and my Marshal status would have to travel through the East Kingdom for approval. If the people above us didn't want me, for any reason, I would get declined. That wasn't likely though, seeing our Marshal in Chief was well respected. I was as good as in.

So I drove home from practice downright giddy. My best score of all time and a new leadership role in the team! I had sunshine and a horse waiting for me. My stomach was churning with hunger and I couldn't wait to grill up that grassfed beef and tuck it into some Tupperware with salad greens and sauce for a dinner with a view from the highest point on my mountain. I would celebrate on horseback, the way I wanted to. So when I pulled into my driveway the first thing I did upon my arrival was to grab Merlin from his paddock and bring him out to the hitching post in the front lawn. There I offered him a bucket of fresh water and two flakes of hay and the plan was for him to eat where I saddle him while Gibson and I ran around doing the evening chores. It wasn't until I had delivered Merlin's dinner that I heard that horrible sound behind me….

"Gruuuunt Grunt. Sniff Sniff, grruuuuuunt squeak"

I turned around slow. Horror-movie slow. My worst fear was realized. I was staring at four pigs. They had all escaped. They were snorting at me, covered all over in dirt and mud.

It was an effort of will but I forced myself into a calm. I had learned long ago that panic did nothing to help the re-containment process. If I acted frantic they would scatter. If I called Gibson out, they would scatter. Right now the pigs seemed interested in me and I took that as a good sign. My eyes darted around trying to decipher how long they had been escapees. I had no idea and instead calmly walked over to the buckets I had set aside for evening feeding and filled one with dry cracked corn. My hope was the pigs would see the bucket and happily follow me back to their dinner.

So.... that didn't work.

What is cracked corn compared to a forest!? A forest teaming with grubs and greens, bark and chicken feeders! The foursome of pigs scattered in every direction. Their fifty-pound adolescent bodies completely filled with joy in what a locust tree felt like on their butts, or what a burdock leaf tasted like. My last hope was that routine would be the remedy, so acting like nothing was unusual I walked up to their pen, opened the door, and poured in the feed. I made a big show of sweet talk and bucket rattling and two of the pigs came running right inside the pen to check it out. Miracle of Miracles I said a silent prayer of thanks to the Guardians and quickly shut the gate behind them. They spun around on their cloven feet and squealed like angry teenagers. TRICKED! They stopped eating and paced around the pen, looking for the place they had crawled under the electric wire and lifted the chain fence to escape. I watched them touch the electric wire without so much as a flinch and knew that the fence was weak or down. I cursed under my breath and started gathering heavy rocks and a cut down locust trunk and setting them around the pen to block and non-electric points of escape. By this point I was covered in sweat and had already cut myself open on a wild rose bush. I looked like an extra in a zombie movie, and smelled like one too. I had two pigs still on the lam and two inside their pen angry as hell for having the footballs pulled over their eyes. I had no idea how to get Three and Four inside but I did know I had to make it happen. I had passed the luxury of choice two pigs ago.

I ran back to the house and threw (THREW!) a half dozen eggs from the fridge into a plastic bucket, watching the orange yokes and shells swirl into a pile of goo at the bottom. I ran to the cupboard and grabbed a can of creamed corn and opened it. I poured it into the bucket and even my pitiful human nose could take in the sugar-sweet stench of it. That rich protein and sugar and starch was too much for most omnivores to pass up and I ran back outside to try nothing short of tricking and trapping. By slowly walking up to the two escaped pigs I was able to get one to stick her head into the pail and I grabbed her back feet and lifted her into the air.

Holy Crow, the screams….

That shoat screamed and writhed and if you think it is easy lifting a fifty-pound car alarm around and dumping into a pen you are mistaken. I walked through through a patch of stinging nettle to do it as fast as possible (in a kilt) and started crying as I slowly released Three into the pen. At this point I was beyond anything but action. I ignored the burning thighs and extra cuts from thorns on my chubby arms. I was in the thick of it now. I saw the fourth pig run towards the sound of his three flatmates and instead of tackling him on a rose bush I had the sense to open the gate and pour the egg-creamed corn onto their dry corn. All three pigs inside the pen jumped on it like hungry lions on a limping gazelle and all I had to do for Four was offer him an open gate. He ran inside and I literally prayed out loud in thanks. They were all co-owned, not my pigs alone. If they got lost it would mean telling a lot of friends their pork wasn't coming as planned. I would have to bear the financial burden of replacing any pigs that left for good, something I'm not ready to do. So seeing four pigs back in their pen was a blessing beyond measure. I prayed some more. I'm a pretty religious person, albeit a logical one. I'm not foolish enough to not stop and be grateful for the gift of four returned pigs. It wasn't a gospel chorus though, I had work to do.

I jumped inside to test the wire. It was dead. The electric wiring itself as fine but the old charger was shot. I went into a frenzy of work. I hand dug out all the hay, mud, and poop that was in the way of the wire and chucked it outside the fence. My fingernails made me cringe. The smell was not good. I was hand-shoveling pig crap at sundown, covered in sweat, dry tears on my face and blood clotting over my back. Merlin was still waiting in front of the farm house. I started crying again, this time in pure exhaustion.

It took another half hour but I grabbed an old two-mile plug in charger and set it up to replace the ten-mile charger that was a deadbeat. With the ground cleared around it (note to self, do not bite nails for a few days or you may end up with ringworm) I knew the charge was good. I waited until a pink nose touched it and I heard a squeal of pain that brought nothing but a smile to my face. I ran off to get the pigs their water and poured some of it right on the grounding rod just for spite.

After all this was done I needed that saddle bad. The sun was already gone from the eastern side of the mountain but I knew I could chase it with my black horse. I saddled Merlin and we took off for our trail. When he broke into that first canter I let out a sigh so primal I'm sure Merlin felt it in his spine. We didn't have time for dinner. I had cooked nothing and lost my appetite a new handfuls of pig shit ago. I just needed to ride. We had a short, quick, hard-pumping, hoof-pounding run and I stopped only to take in the view of my valley from the highest point. We shot home and before I took him to his hitch for apples and brushing I trotted him back to the pig pen. He obliged and from horseback I counted the pigs inside the little pen. One, Two, Three, and Four. All were inside. One came up to sniff the wire and shouted when it got a hard jolt. No part of me felt any pity at all. I smiled. If you think that's crule you haven't rewired a charger with the slow burn of nettles on your inner thighs while blood ran down your arms. Peta my ass. The most abused animal on this farm is me, hands down.

I let out another sigh and looked over my kingdom. Six and a half acres of time and story. I was covered in pig shit, blood, dirt, hay chaff, human sweat, horse sweat, and dried tears. I had solved a problem, earned a rank in my archery team, and had ended it all in victory on the back of my anam chara in the forest. I was panting. Merlin was panting. The light was tired and summer was coming to a close. But I knew from that hot seat that I had won a battle that day. I had captured pigs, shot true, earned a leadership position and cried a good cry. I had lost myself on a horse, regained myself in the woods, and was now ready for a very hot shower and a very cold beer.

I walked Merlin back, resting so deep in my saddle no part of Merlin could read it as anything but a saunter. I smelled horrible. I'm sure I looked horrible. Just as I was home from the ride, turning the corner to Merlin's posts, I saw that Brick (my alpha ewe) had jumped the fence and escaped. Gibson was barking up a storm at the felony and I knew my night was just beginning. I let Gibson out to deal with the sheep and I meditated with a curry comb and the damp horse as the sunlight went from whisper to silence. Today was good and it was bad. It was wonderful, exhausting, scary and adventurous. I had spent hours in the sunlight shooting my bow, feeling that tired warmth of Lugh all around me, hugging my bronzed shoulders and telling me that October is just a few more trail rides away. I no longer felt hungry. I was already full. I had fence repairs, hay bales, water buckets, grain, milking, and more ahead of me but this only caused a swell of purpose. I returned Merlin to his paddock and Jasper greeted him with a nip on the shoulder and the two boys ran back to their open pasture gate to graze. I let them relax. I turned back to work.

Happiness is not wanting to trade your life in for anyone else's. I'm there.

99.2hrs PiC

Flew 0.7hrs to and from Aurora State Airport (KAOU) today. This has brought my total PiC hours to 99.2hrs. I will be taking a week off from flying next week as I am heading to Disney in CA. I have 3 people lined up for my next few flights, one being my Dad who has never flown with me! I am going to have to decide who gets that 100hr flight with me! I really want to fly to Boeing Field. Need to find out if my Dad will be happy to take the longer flight with me.

Pre-Flight N5440H

NAV1 GPS Mode KAOU

Solo Cross Country

I titled this entry "Solo Cross Country" for a reason. Flying a new aircraft (M model) in a new area (Oregon) is like learning to fly all over again. It's about having the confidence in my ability to explore my new surroundings by air. 

With each flight I am getting a little more adventurous and am flying further afield. This is all good preparation for my flight to Boeing Field (KBFI) which I intend to fly in the next two to three weeks.

One of the challenges flying in Oregon has been the conversion from KTS to MPH on the IAS. Sounds simple right? It has taken me a couple of flights to nail those approach speeds. I am basically adding 10 to the IAS. Where before I would have been 75,70,65 on approach, I am now 85,80,75. 

Really inspired my daughter with this flight. She hasn't stopped talking about it. Can't wait to take her flying again soon!Check out the #GulfstreamGirl photo I took during the flight.

Future #GulfstreamGirl

Wiffle Ball Bats & The Blob

I was in the kitchen beating a zucchini in honorable combat. It was early morning and had been chopping it into big cubes for a while, listening to a podcast as I went through the list of things I had done so far (chore wise) and what was still ahead. It was not even 7:30AM on a Saturday and I had already fed the sheep grain, gave the horses hay, filled chicken feeders and checked in on chicks (the new dozen are still with us!). I was planning out goat feed and the most effect ways to haul water into the woods for the pigs, but these thoughts were overtaken by squash. This zucchini was a monster. A serious wiffle-ball-bat sized vehicle given to me by my gardening guru friend, Joanna. She knew I was one of six people in America who still wanted people's excess zucchini. I have a small army of pigs to feed, after all.

I filled a 5-gallon bucket at my feed with the cubes of zuch, and created a stock pot of other kitchen finds. Some old cobs of sweet corn, a few windfall apples I collected, and a few far-gone tomatoes. The morning meal was all vegetarian and pretty darn healthy if I do say so myself. I was sipping a large mug of coffee and enjoying that as my breakfast. I must admit, it wasn't anywhere near as splendid as the pig bucket.

I had not slept well. I blame my dreams and a pack of coyotes. I had the same dream last night I have had since I was six years old. While the story and characters never stop changing I always dream the same theme: survival leadership. I do not have sex dreams, or artistic dreams, or dreams about forgetting classes or being naked in public. Ever since I was a little girl I have had these movie-style dreams about some disaster happening (a plane crash, alien attack, world war 3, etc) and having to outsmart and survive it. The first one I can remember took place in my hometown. Remember that old movie, The Blob? I dreamt a purple ooze was coming for us and covering the earth at a slow crawl and everything it touched died. Soon as the purple gunk covered it, it hardened and all behind it was like purple glass. I watched people, horses, wild deer and cars get slowly consumed by the ooze then turned into statues. When I saw it coming for me at a slow slink I did what no one else had thought to do. Right when it was about to hit my feet I jumped and landed on the already hard opposite side. It was a dream but it was also a lesson: when things get bad, stop and think. Also, don't be afraid to jump

Last night's dream was about something involving an attack of monsters and I turned into an Eagle to fly away. It was the kind of dream that was so detailed you woke up exhausted. I did wake up from it, and I was tired as hell, but what woke me wasn't morning chores - it was coyotes. They were on the mountain and moving fast. If you never heard a pack of songdogs sing it is as haunting as it is beautiful. They yipped and howled, crooned and hollered and at one point I swear it was in my own backyard. But come morning light there was no casualties and the cats seemed as comfortable as pharaohs. It was a song of travel, I suppose.

I fell back asleep and woke up hours later, convinced I had missed morning chores. glanced at the clock and read it somewhere around 9AM. That was wicked late, and in a panic I raced outside with gibson to take care of all the chores I could, apologizing to all the animals about the late state. I had to put on a wool sweater, and my breath swirled around my face and from the giant nostrils of the horses. The outside thermometer read 42 degrees. Not normal for August but an appreciated preview of early fall. With sheep, horses, and poultry content I came back inside with a bucket and one of Jo's charity squash. When I got back into the kitchen I read the clock, now with my glasses on. It was 6:48AM.

Looks like I had more time than I realized? I let that reality sink in. It isn't often you get a gift of time, usually you spend all your effort on the subject wondering where it went, not what to do with some you stole. I poured another cup of coffee and planned out the day on paper. I had a Mews to paint, errands to run, hay to pickup, and other chores and sundries to experience. But for now, another cup of coffee would do.

Easier than saving myself from monster glop, at least.

Forget The Phone

Curds & Curly Tails

The pigs had a breakfast of windfall apples from last nights thunderstorm, cracked corn, and whey left over from cheese making. Right now the curd from a farmer chevre is setting on my countertop in a mold and by this afternoon it will be perfect. Simple soft cheeses like this that only take a day to drip, set, and spread over a bagel or crumble over a salad are a staple in places with regular access to an udder. I had some guests here yesterday and when they saw how fast the process was, and how quickly I left the steel pot on the stove alone to turn to curds, they seemed surprised. I literally came inside the house with a pail of milk, strained it, heated it up in a pot, added some lemon juice and some chevre culture and we went back outside to plant kale seeds and tack up Merlin. I call any super fast cheese like this a Farmer Cheese, mostly because farmers doing 200 things at once don't usually have the time make a daily cheese much more complicated. For me this cheve will be offered at Game Night at a Friend's house I was invited to. Served with some crackers or bagels. I'm still not over the humble brag that comes when someone who "can't stand goat cheese" tastes a real, raw milk, soft cheese for the first time and falls in love with it. There is nothing "goaty" about it, at least not in the way people knee-jerk react to that word. It's a bright taste, like new guitar strings sound. There's some tang, sure, but no more challenging than cream cheese.

Anyway, back to those pigs. I love watching them scarf and smile. I love watching them scratch their butts on the metal feeder or their pigoda wall. I love seeing them crunch into the protein-soaked corn as they fish for apples and I love seeing them decide it was all too-much and pile into a heap for a nap. In a few weeks (right after Fiddle Camp) they will move from their pen to their woodland adventure! Right now they have a piglet space that will soon offer an open gate into the forest. I need to build them an extended electric fence or use some netting but however I rig it I am excited for them to see what its like to scratch their butt on a locust trunk!

Class Bravo Flying

Been thinking about the class bravo flights from the last six months. So far flying into KPHX has been my best aviation adventure so far. I hope I get to do this again at some point. This is just not possible back in the UK/Ireland.

Truth

Heard rumors about my stalker? I caught him on video.

Fiddle Camp Is NEXT Weekend!

Fiddle Camp is next Saturday and Sunday. August 31st and Septemnber first. The instruments are here, t-shirts are printed and the port potty is being delivered Friday afternoon. The farm opens up at 9:30 AM and camp starts at 10AM sharp. (No arrivals or camping Friday, please!). I will be running around like nuts preparing for the event and no one is camping Friday or Sunday night. If you are camping here there will be tent sites available in the woods behind the farm Saturday, but no personal campfires or stoves are permitted. There are also no shower facilities.

There will be a group campfire Saturday night, most likely though. Feel free to bring your guitars or banjos or whatever you play for some jamming. Don't be shy. Being shy is silly, as you are grossly underestimating the general public's apathy and Fiddle Camp ttendee's kindness.

Be mindful of that and bring snacks or food you do not need to cook to enjoy. Meals are not provided due to federal regulations, but you can bring your own feed. Why not get started on the paleo diet and bring some apples and jerky! Or, bring some cash to enjoy my little town's cafes and diners, there are LOTS of eating options in air-conditioned places around town. Camp itself is held outdoors, all day. We will be under the shade of a big maple with plenty of water. I'll have complimentary bottled water on ice. If you do bring food: KEep these well protected in plastic containers or resealable bags because of wildlife such as bears. Also, know you are camping on a farm and that means roosters crowing in your ear at around 4AM. You will be surrounded by wild and domestic animals and if sleep is important it isn't too late to find a room with a shower, TV, and AC! Just email me for a list of local camp sites, hotels, and Inns. all the usual chains are in Saratoga, Bennington, Glens Falls, and such.

You should bring a comfortable camp chair, farm-friendly footwear, and no dogs or children may attend. This is because of insurance reasons and my comfort level. This means no dogs at your tent or cars while you attend camp. I know this is a bummer, but it is too hot and too long a day.

Lastly, make sure if you are attending camp you have your text book, tuner, and a spare set of strings. I'll take care of the rest! And most of all, get excited to meet awesome people and finally start playing the instrument you always dreamed of playing! It's happening this weekend!

FAIR WEEK!

It's Washington County Fair Time! last night the fair opened with the annual Pro Rodeo, which I adore! I was there with Patty, Tara, Tyler, Joanna and Greg. It was a thrill and heartbeater as always. I adore the roping, barrel racing, and the cowboys which make me swoon (can't lie, its a large part of the draw of rodeo for me). My favorite event is bulldogging (aka steer wrestling). This is where a man on a galloping horse leaps off his mount onto a running steer, grabs onto the horns, and wrestles it to the ground in under ten seconds. If they were in kilts on fell ponies I might need to be chained to the bleachers....

If you are reading this and compete in rodeo you just got yourself a first date. I'm 67% kidding.

Threefold Return, New Clutch!

The chicks you see here were born this past winter, the daughters of a Pumpkin Husley that came here from Greenfire Farms two years ago. I found them behind the woodpile, near the house. I heard them peeping (a seriously odd sound for midwinter outdside on a farm). I discovered a nest and broyght mom and little ones inside. They have since thrived, a good deed on my part and a lucky strike for them. I have never met a chicken as good a mother as a Pumpkin, which makes sense being a breed bred for cockfighting that turned out to be a viciously good mama! These two lived in the farmhouse for the winter (this picture was just before the coldest night of the year!) and then went outside in the spring to live with their mama. Over the summer these two learned to steel grain from goat feeders, perch in the safest, highest rafters in the barns, and have been the most successful free range bird I ever raised. I don't know if Greenfire still raises them or not but I am nothing but impressed with them as brooding hens and layers. These chickens only die if they commit suicide. No critter can catch them and they outsmart most of their chicken brethren.

Anyway, one of these little woodpile chicks just hatched out some chicks. I took this video expecting a trio or so of birds from the first time mother, but watch and see how many there really are. Talk about a threefold return! Are you familiar with that karmic phrase? The idea being that everything you do, from smiling at a stranger to punching someone in the face comes back to you times three. It's an old Celtic/Welsh folk saying but it always rings true. You get what you deserve, just more of it. I got repayed this August morning for a kindness I offered last winter. No one said the payment was quick, but it sure was good.

 

New Light, Miriam Romais's Photography!

Miriam Romais will be visiting the farm for the next few weeks, seasons, a while I think. I'm honored to have her come and share her gift with all of us. She's an amazing and accomplished photographer with her own magazine and studio in New York City. She was drawn to the farm and has been here at 7AM to help with and document chores, ridden with me in Merlin's cart, brought along family and friends to help with group efforts like the mews and fence repairs. To have an artist with a passion to document this messy life who is willing to hand you a rusty fencing tool on a dusty hillside is a gem. I hope to share some amazing work here, like this portrait of Merlin. Stay tuned, Antlers. More to come out of this happy friendship!

New Fences, New Friends, Hobbit Goats

Good morning, all. It has been a hectic week here to say the very least. The mews has a deadline on it and this past week falconry has been the main thing on my brain. My mentor, Ed Hepp, came to see the progress and offer some advice and ideas. His help was very appreciated but his ideas mean longer construction time to create the features he is suggesting. It's a good long-term idea though, a platform shelf inside the mews for the new bird when he/she arrives.

Besides the hawking stuff I have been repairing and reworking the electric fences on the farm. So far I have rewired the sheep and they are staying put (thanks to the help of some new friends, Keenan and Mir!) but for every victory on a small farm something else has to knock you down a peg or so. When I came home from an event in Albany yesterday the goats had escaped and were enjoying the pot of sunflowers I had been waiting to see flower all this wet spring. If they did ever flower the goats ate them.

What I love about goats is they aren't much for wandering. They want to stay close to home and are one of the few animals I trust totally outside the pen. Let me rephrase that. I trust them to STAY around the house and not run off, but not to ignore the vegetable gardens or flowering herbs. Sheep will run across the street to greener pastures and so will horses, but goats are happy to eat your kale right out of your backyard and let those other critters go on adventures. Goats are hobbits.

Exhasuted

Mews Progress!

Right Seat Flying

Flying right seat with @cholubaz

CHD-TUS-CHD

Coworker

Soggy Bacon

It's pouring here. I mean, RAIN. Chores are done between the hardest downpours and only one at a time. I ran out and fed the horses and sheep first (hay in the truck was closest to them and had to be fed right quick now that it was wet, only two bales so no big waste). I ran inside after that to fortify self and soul with strong coffee. It rained steady for an hour and then I headed back outside to feed the pigs and milk the goats. This morning with all the rain and wind there were windfall apples everywhere! I poured some corn into a metal bucket, filled it with leftover scraps from the kitchen and apples and poured goat milk over top. When you get a half gallon a day you don't mind sharing. I carried that to the wet pigs who are learning that "girl with bucket" is worth paying attention too. In a few days I'll build their first outdoor woodland paddock. I can't wait to see what they do with their wild world!

Two sheep keep escaping from their paddock into the pasture, Gibson rounds them up every day, several times. I think I need another electric wire so they stop leaping over top. Fences are just opportunities to acquire battle strategy, I think.

I trudged along in my wet t-shirt and kilt, dressed in what I consider my own sense of fashion now. I had on my favorite army green canvas kilt, a gray t-shirt, chaco sandals and a knit gray hat. My hair soaked below it but the wool kept the heat in and chill off. My feet got disgusting from the mud and farm but a dip in the well pool had them clean as movie hobbits in no time. I can't say it was all that bad out there: wet sheep, wet dog, wet kilt and wet pigs. Dry Smile.

There are worst ways to spend a Tuesday morning.

Behold a Dark Horse

I watched this video and cried. I was outside after chores, slunk down in the hammock, and I saw it pop up on my Facebook feed on my iphone. It's a performance by Stacy Westfall and her black horse, all done to music without a bridle or saddle. The things she gets that horse to do with barely the slightest signals of leg and body are astounding. As someone who has competed in dressage and ran up mountain trails I understand what is going on and it made me gasp. Then it made me cry. Us humans can't help but see, read, or hear something and then grasp to relate to it. I pray to someday be as talented as Stacy's pinky finger with horses—I have so much to learn—but I already know I will never live without one again. I don't know how the rest of you are getting by without one? They change you. They change everything about you, how you see yourself, how you relate to other challenges and events. A woman with a horse is a strong woman. She's capable and confident and it doesn't matter if she's in a black velvet helmet or a Stetson.

Merlin saved me. More than I realize.

I cried because that ride was amazing, and because I literally just dismounted off my own black horse less then an hour before. It's hard to go a day without riding now, something I try to do once or twice a day. I feel lucky to have a horse outside my door and trails to ride him on that it seems foolish and reckless with my good fortune not to do it as often as possible. I started riding first thing in the morning with some coffee in a thermos shoved into a saddlehorn bag. I used to start my mornings with the news and checking my bank account. This is better. As one of you fine people said on Facebook, "nothing in the news or my bank account will change in that hour". Might as well put myself in a grateful and happy mood while the daylight is young.

I don't know much about Stacy's backstory. I do know that in this video she dedicated that ride to her dad, saying it was his encouragement to try new things that mattered. Think about that? Out of all the things she could have said to a couple thousand people before the ride of her life, it was encouragement that mattered. I can't think of anything more precious. To encourage someone along their path might be the most important thing we can do for each another. Everyday we are given thousands of chances to lighten someone else's load, to create a smile where one didn't exist a second ago. How could we choose anything else?

I hope more than anything that this blog encourages those of you who are on the fence about taking brave steps. I hope you see this broke, confused, imperfect woman on the internet following her dream of a creative life and it makes you feel things are possible. Trust me, that is all I write for. When I get emails that readers finally bought land, or got their first egg, or are making these dramatic life changes I am on fire for them, buoyed and thrilled. That's the whole point of this wild ride, right? To live like you are dying. You ARE dying. I don't care if you're 23 or 89, all of us are on a ticking clock. I know my life seems irresponsible to some of you, that you don't like me or my choices, but I can tell you this much: if my world ended tomorrow I'd know I spent my time making the best life I could for myself. That I did it regardless of consequences, permissions, or pride. I know that I only kissed men I loved and only prayed to gods I believed and I never let fear that they didn't love me back get in the way of either. That matters.

We are defined by the decisions we make.

It's up to you to make the reality you want. It's up to you to not care about what other people's opinions are. It's up to you to leave the marriage, quit the job, run the 5k, or adopt that baby. It's up to you to tell him you love him. It's up to you to say you are sorry. It's up to you to buy the compost, plant the seed, and create the garden between the cracks in the walls. No one is going to do anything for you. No one is going to offer you the opportunities. And if you live a life waiting for perfect moments, the right amount in the bank account, or approval from your family and peers you will never experience the changes you want to see.

The doers make the decisions. You know that right? There's a saying for it, I just heard it today. I was listening to Jack Spirko's podcast and he shared a little sermon about the reality we all live in. It's called The Doacracy. The people who are out there doing the work, they are the ones that get to make the rules. We live in a society that is always asking permission, always. We hand over our authority to the people we were told to listen to, trained to submit to rules. Don't. I have always believed in asking for forgiveness instead of permission, and if you don't believe me ask my mother. So when you hit a wall you need to see it as a challenge, not a deal breaker. You need to understand that your lack of cash, inability to relocate, or responsibilities are only your current circumstances and everything you do in your daily life either changes them or reinforces them. And that bit about encouragement? Sometimes it is up to you to encourage yourself. Sometimes the only one who can see the big picture is the one holding the paintbrushes. Be a doer. Make your life. Ignore those who tell you that you can't. They subscribe to a whole different way of living. It doesn't have to be yours.

This is a short, painful, confusing and heartbreaking life where most of us only have a few decades to really live the way we want to. So get on that horse, call that realtor, or buy that plane ticket. Stop living like you aren't dying. It's going to kill you if you don't.

Ron Finley: Guerilla Gardener

Tacking Up. What We Ride In.

I have been asked what I ride with, meaning what kind of tack I use. I think my set up is kind of original, but I think anyone who has a multi-use horse would say the same. Merlin rides English, western, trail, jumping, dressage and drives. But what I love more than anything is just tacking him up and going for a mountain trail ride and picnic. Our trail rides are fast-paced most of the time. It's a combination of trot and canter, a lot of elevation changes. For this I ride in western tack. I have an old barrel racing saddle and like the style a lot. It feels less like a seat and more like one of those contraptions you get strapped into when you sit on a roller coaster. It's horn and cantle are high, so you feel hugged front and back. I think barrel racing saddlers are made to keep the riders in, and since it is a traditionally women's rodeo sport they seem to fit my body better than the trail saddlers I have tried out. I always, always, always use a breast collar. It keeps the saddle from slipping, and on a draft pony that is a big deal. They are round critters even when they are in peak shape and a slipping saddle feels like you have no control. At least it does for me.

Merlin uses a hand-me-down wool saddle pad in tan plaid. Wendy gave it to me at last summer's fiddle camp and I use it nearly every day. It is thick, wicks sweat, and gives an amazing cushion for Merlin. I have used plain old blankets, thinner synthetic pads, and such but nothing seems to work as well as a real wool pad.

I use a western black leather bridle, 6" snaffle "mule" bit, and a ten foot long pair of black cotton reins. The black cotton is so comfortable for trail riding, thick and beefy to hold. It takes me out of the dressage ring or english lesson mindset, too. Last night I wanted to get back into the lighter English saddle I have and I did, but I still used the big reins and western bridle. Merlin seems to like less pressure on his mouth (I imagine most horses do!) and I give him control of his head while we amble along.

On long outings Merlin has canvas saddlebags and I roll a blanket over his rump behind the cantle. I can pack drinks, hoof pick, fly spray, halter and lead, first aid gear, rain gear, a pocket knife, weather alert radio and whatever book I am reading. Sometimes there is a cold hard cider in a small lunch cooler with an icepack, sometimes there is just ice water. Other times (after a rough day) I just stick a flask of whiskey in my sporran and that's the end of that. I do not suggest anyone ride while drinking but a sip of good bourbon on top of a horse on a mountaintop view never hurt anyone, by god.

So that is Merlin's gear. I always ride in the same thing: cowboy shirt, straw hat, kilt, full-seat breach bloomers, paddock boots and half chaps. I'll get a picture of us together in our updated highlander gear eventually. But I wanted to share what we use here in words (even if the picture is older, showing a plain blanket and our old lesson bridle). If you have any questions or suggestions for good trail stuff, let me know!

Good Morning!

Ah, there is nothing like walking into a sunbeam lit kitchen and grabbing that hot percolator off the stove. THe sheep are on the hill, the horses are swishing their tails by their gate, and the whole day of writing, archery lessons, and design work is ahead of me. I can lean back against the kitchen county, take my first sip of Heaven's sweet mana, and take in a deep whiff of rotting corpses.

Mmmmm. Farm life.

So the critter that killed and stole 44 chicks in one silent death raid is taken care of. He or she is now rotting in the crawl space under my kitchen. I wish it wasn't so, but in all honesty it isn't that bad. It's the not-so-sweet smell of victory.

Autumn's Start

It was nearly dark. I was in the office after just catching up on computer stuff. The work crew had left, a new wall was up on the mews. In two weeks the mews and weathering area will be ready for inspection and I can have my mentor sign off on my application. I'm thinking about this as I look outside the office window at the sheep. A few jumped the *new* electric fence and were in the recovering pasture. I looked down at Gibson, who was already on top of the situation. From my office window he can see all the sheep and was whining as I typed. Time to head back outside.

Gibson and I headed out into the cobalt blue world. The light is already tired this time of year, always stretching and yawning. That's what August light is, tired. It's the glow of Lughnasadh, the first harvest. Once you pass that August 2nd cross quarter you are in the realm of fall and I feel it everywhere, boiling from room temperature on its way up. I can feel Autumn in every breath, the air is tired too. As a farmer and as an old-fashioned agriculturalist I see the year starting and ending in fall, not January. This is the end of a whole year of growth and all the work will pay off in warm stove wood, canned jars of summer vegetables, growing lambs, a strong horse, and soon bonfires that set yellow cornstalks aglow. Before you know it there will be cider pressing and reading The Legend of Sleepy Hollow around the campfire, a CAF tradition. I can not wait.

In the next few weeks we'll be in the realm of September and I could not be more excited. September is to me what Thanksgiving is to die-hard Christmas fans - the beginning of the celebration season! I am a fall junky and in the next few weeks nights will dip into the forties, then flirt with the thirties, and soon I will be calling the chimney sweep and chopping and stacking woof everyday from the growing pile. All the wood for my stove this year came in trade or as gifts, and what a gift it is! I have a friend, Tim Hoff, who has driven over with his son on several occasions to drop off wood left over from trees cut down by his boss or road jobs. All the wood, much of it hardwood, was scavenged but it'll burn just the same. I need to chainsaw and chop it up but I think well over two cords are already outside my kitchen window. That is not a bad start at all.

Always a Student

Continuing to learn valuable lessons in my short time as a Private Pilot. Today it was about proficiency and not taking too long away from flying!

Back in the saddle today. Wx improved to BKN024 but decided to remain in the pattern. 5 landings. That's 1.5hrs in the last 7 weeks and it showed. Allowed my speed to get too slow over the runway, as a result I didn't have sufficient elevator authority in the flare. This resulted in hard landings! For one landing, I had to take my hands away from the throttle to pull back harder on the elevator. I really don't like doing that in case I need to go around. 

The aircraft i'm flying is in MPH (95% of my hours are in aircraft with kts). Need to make sure I nail the approach speeds speeds (75/70/65/60kts = 86/80/74/69mph). Or other words, add 10.

Flying again within the next week.

N5440H Full Elevator Deflection!

What Is Falconry?!

I have been writing about this for a while, but never really explained what the reason for acquiring a red tail hawk is! Falconry is hunting, plain and simple. But instead of using a shotgun, riffle, slingshot, pointy stick, bow, or any other man-made weapon - you use a hawk. The hawk is trained to be set free and fly from tree to tree in the forest, above her handler. As the human below walks through the woods in our heavy-footed way that high-sitting hawk can see the rabbits, grouse, pheasants, turkeys, squirrels, and doves below that us people scare off. It takes off to kill it, a fast downward soar called a "flight" and takes the prey with its sharp taloned feet. The human follows the bird, steal its quarry and puts it in a falconer's bag and takes the hawk back on her arm for a possible second hunt.

It is nearly silent, and beautiful, and a partnership between human and animal for a single goal - not unlike working horses, plowing donkeys, and herding sheep dogs. The redtail I trap and train will be a living tool for the hunt, a partner, but not a pet. My hawk will be a wild animal that belongs to the state of New York and the Federal goverment, not me. I am just a "handler" and not an owner, though that doesnt mean a true relationship wont form between us. I can keep the bird here in the mews we are building for a year or five, but eventually she will be returned to nature as a healthy, breeding, wild animal. Red tails can leave humans and do just fine (which is why beginner's start with such hawks. If I mess up the hawk can be free and live its normal, wild life).

If you have any questions just email me, or look at your local Falconry club. There are groups in every state and plenty of handlers who might be thrilled to show you their world, take you on a hawk walk, or show you their mews. It's not a secret society, sport of the wealthy, or animal abuse. It is hunting with a bird of prey and learning stewardship, treamwork, and respect between species. I am so excited for this. What a fall this will be!

P.S. That is Haggis, the Harris Hawk female from the British School of Falconry.

Brazil, Outdoor Shower Stalls, and Venti Coffee Drinks...

I had a friend from Lake George come by the farm yesterday. She's a photographer I met her at my Taekwondo School, a fellow student. She isn't a homesteader of any sort, but grew up around farms in Brazil and wanted to see what my world was like. I was happy to show her the ropes. What happened was a day of activity, everything from harnessing Merlin for a cart ride to loading truck up with hay at Common Sense Farm. She met the pigs (now named Ham, Ham, Jumpies and Commander after the four chickens named by my friend Joanna's neice). She pet the goats, helped me with chores surrounded by poultry and heckling turkeys. She was a trooper, totally out of her normal NYC environment and not even complaining about stepping in chicken poo. Not that I would expect any sort of squeamishness from a woman who I've seen execute a perfect side kick. She's a tough one, and I was proud to show her this place. We spent the whole day getting to know each other outside the dojang. At Taekwondo we would spar and work on forms and techniques but we never really get to chat. It's considered rude to be talking during class, all attention is on the instructor. But my farm is far from the world of martial arts where full attention is considered the norm. Here there are so many things to pay attention to it's almost dangerous to focus on one thing too long! I think she'll be returning over the next few weeks and working on a photo essay, possibly for publication. I'm excited and honored about the possibility. When she left I sent her home with some porkchops, just-dug potatoes, and some breakfast sausage. I could have sent her home with milk and eggs too, if she wanted. I think I am just realizing now this is a Breakfast Farm!

After the full day of work and hosting a guest I came back to my computer to catch up on emails and work. I saw an email from a woman who told me, quite bluntly, that she doesn't see the value in subscribing to a blog for a year - it doesn't offer her enough content. I think I stared at the screen for a full minute with my mouth open. It wasn't her lack of interest in signing up for a paid subscription, that is none of my business really. But her statement that the content wasn't worth the five bucks a month hurt. I know lately things have been sparse here, but that's because I am fall-down-the-stairs busy with a mauscript, new proposal, the farm work, the mews construction, the part time job in Vermont, and special events like the photographer from the big city. This morning I was on the road at 7:45 AM to head over to Tara and Tyler's place to help them get ready for their week-long workshop about timber framing. I was happy to help them (they certainly help me!) but I doubt I will get to blog about helping with a wattle and daub outdoor shower house (though you can see Tara & Tyler's pictures here,) but that's just because I am dog tired. Like the farm itself, writing comes and goes in waves of effort and will. Right now it isn't up the the normal snuff, but I still think if you started at the first of August and went through day-to-day you'd see enough stories, videos, and pictures to be worth a vebti drink at Starbucks?

If you want to subscribe, it is easy to do. If you do not it is even easier to do! You don't have to write me to tell me why or why not, like I said, that is your businness. But for all who do I appreciate it. So much. So very, very, very much. Things here are still a little dodgy but I am pulling through it, being frugal whenever I can, and spedning more time enjoying the food and life I have here than going out. I am waiting with white knuckles on payments due and if I can make it with enough time to order those fiddles and get those camp t-shirts in by the end of next week I will be kissing the ground! Every day I sit down and try my level best to get out thank you notes to a handful of readers, and if you are still waiting for yours please be patient! I'l catch up!

Seed : $5.00 USD - monthly Lamb : $10.00 USD - monthly Ram : $15.00 USD - monthly Flocker! : $25.00 USD - monthly

Yeti's Napping Spot

Announcing Two Big Events! Beginner Banjo & Wool Festival Workshop!

I am really excited to announce these two events, both happening this fall at Cold Antler Farm! The first is a reason for a three-day weekend folks, because Kathryn Zmrzlik will be here Friday October 4th for an all day wool workshop the day before the Southern Adirondack Fiber Festival! Kathryn is the woman some of you may remember from the winter wool weekend I host? Well she wanted to come back and teach again and is taking a day off her work to do just that. This woman knows wool. She's a spinner, knitter, and can look at a fleece out on a table and tell you whether or not it's worth it's weight in compost. She's here to teach us the same, so join me in a workshop entirely dedicated to wool and yarn!

The morning will start out with a tour of the farm and a talk about backyard sheep and what goes into a small flock. That's my contribution to the day. From there we'll take some wool right off Sal and bring it inside to clean, dry, card, and spin with a drop spindle. You can see the entire process done by hand, take notes, and get your fingers wrapped around raw wool, lanolin, clean wool, and a drum carder. You'll also get a chance to try out drop spindles. After that we will break for lunch and when we return Kathryn, spinner and woolcentric woman of wonder, will get out her wheel and some fleeces and show us how to sort out both. First she will demystify the wheel and its parts, use, and care and feeding. Then she'll show us new fleece buyers what to look for in quality wool. This is pretty important information and timely too, because the day after this workshop at Cold Antler will be the opening day of the nearby Fiber Festival. Make the trip up here to not only learn and support CAF, but to spend a day in autumnal farm country among other wool and knitting fans! It's a great festival and with the know-how Kathryn has to offer you you'll be buying fleeces like a pro. Or, at the very least, a VERY educated consumer!

So come to learn, hang out, laugh, and see Cold Antler on Friday and stay in the county for the festival that weekend. A bonefied Washington County Experience if there ever was one!

Fiber Festival Wool Workshop!
Friday October 4th 2013
10AM-4PM
15 Spots Left
Price: $100
If you don't know who this woman pictured is, let me introduce to you the finest Old Time Banjo Frailer in the county! Julie Duggan is a Cambridge art teacher and banjo player, having taught people in camps and clinics all over the US for the past 25 years. She is the woman to get that banjo itch you have scratched. She agreed to come the Saturday before Halloween to the farm for an all day introduction to the 5-string openback banjo. This is old time, frailing, or knockdown style. It's the kind of banjo playing that came out of the Appalachians before bluegrass music came about. It's rhythmic, powerful, and above all fun! You'll need a banjo for the course (none are provided) but you don't need to invest thousands to learn the basics. Email me if you want some recommendations but what matters at this workshop is your enthusiasm! Don't worry if you aren't musical. What Julie needs is people excited to learn.

Here you can see her playing at a mountain music workshop I did a few seasons back. Julie and I talked about what would happen during the day workshop and she will teach us the basics, but also tell a bit of her story about her experience with this instrument that because such a big part of her life. She not only teaches and performs with her banjos but collects them as well.

What I really love about these two workshops are they happens during the heart of Cold Antler Farm's year, Fall. The farm will be ready for winter and there will most likely be a red tail hawk for you to meet as well. It's a happy, special, and beautiful time here in Washington County and I think these workshops will fill up quick! So email me if you want to sign up for this, or the wool workshop, or BOTH!

Open Backs and Hallowed Hearts!
Saturday, Holy October 26th 2013
10AM-4PM
15 Spots Left
Price: $125

Rakes: Not Just For Leaves

Looks like today will be a wash out, there's a 100% prediction of heavy rains. I'm scheduled to work at the Archery School today, but since it is an outdoor classroom and basically a vacation destination few people want to spend their vacation time out in a downpour with sharp pointy objects. I have a feeling I'll be told not to come in, but while I wait for confirmation there is plenty to do around here. A rainy day means a chance to clean the house, organize emails, perhaps can some pickels, and of course, write. I'm between books and editing manuscripts so I want to start content on my next book proposal. That train isn't stopping yet. I have a lot more books in me!

I'm at that place as a writer where everything I have coming out is pretty much settled and the work is done, One Woman Farm is at the printers and comes out this fall and Cold Antler Farm (the next book, a larger memoir) is coming out the following spring. It is a good feeling knowing bookstores won't forget my name just yet but as a career it's the last job and already in the hopper, so time to mine some more book deals. If I can get one before winter I will rest a lot easier by the wood stove. This is all going on spec, as you know. But that's how this farm works!

Work Zone!

Following Muses

Things here are moving fast. I am running *just* fast enough ahead of the pack to not get ran over by it! I have been getting a lot of hours this week as at the Falconry School in Manchester. I'm an archery instructor there (in case you are a new reader and have no idea what I am talking about) and the extra cash has been a great help. I get paid an hourly wage, but the real money comes from tips. Some folks tip, others don't, but every day I drive there it is worth it. To get people from not knowing how to hold a bow to shooting bulls eyes at ten yards (I refuse to teach with sights, too!) is such a great feeling of accomplishment. I love teaching, and love that a passion such as archery can turn into more than targets and deer stalking here at the farm, it has become a solid source of supplemental income. I think this is how I will make a living the rest of my life, sharing my passions. I love the bow, the fiddle, the farm and everything that goes with them. If I can make enough money to pay my bills and sit back with a glass of hard cider every so often I will consider myself a wild success! These things are so special to me, so satisfying, and constantly inspire and teach me. I feel so lucky to share it, and share with you who have the same love of horse hair - be it on fiddle strings or on the mane of a cantering steed.

Speaking of my muse…

The last three nights have been all about the muse! I mean, ahem, MEWS! What started as some posts in the ground now has framing, a metal roof, the beginning of a window and a gravel floor. I picked up a half yard of the gravel in my truck Monday and was not prepared for how much gravel half a yard is…. I shoveled it out, bucket by bucket, and got most of it into the ground of the mews. It's a packing gravel, mostly chalky powder and perfect for keeping mice out and hawk feet comfortable. All that is left to do is put up wall,s the windows, double entry-door and make some roosts. Then I can call the State to come and inspect it. When the game warden says my preparations are worthy of applying for an Apprentice Falconer License I can get serious about learning to trap and train with my mentor. It is turning into quite the adventure. The progress is slow, but once I have jumped through the hoops, build the facilities, and made some more local falconer connections I think it'll all flow smoothly.

Oshkosh Summary - Ford Trimotor Flight

Nine social media friends and I took a ten minute flight in a 1929 Ford Trimotor whilst at Oshkosh. Short taxi out to runway 36 (L) and then a 2 mile wide pattern back to runway 36 (L). This was one of the highlights of my Oshkosh trip.

Twitter Friends - Ford Tri-Motor

Thanks to @cholubaz for allowing the staff to take this photo with his camera.

Oshkosh Summary - Seaplane Base

One of the best kept secrets of Oshkosh is the Seaplane base that sits about 5nm SW of KOSH. I ended up spending a few hours there on both Friday and Saturday with my GoPro filming the operations. I recorded the background noise and ATC audio on my MP3 recorder. I plan to produce a short video showing the operations once I have had time to edit my video and audio.

Oshkosh Seaplane Base

Busy Seaplane Photo

Cessna Float Departing Cove Area

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